Jasper Tales
by TwilightAlison
Summary: I am a huge Jasper fan and am particularly interested in his life prior to joining the Cullens. I thought it would be fun to write a series of one shots focusing on Jasper's early life. I expect some to be long, some to be short, some to be multi-parters.
1. The New Recruit

**Chapter 1: Good Night Hunting**

***The lovely Stephenie Meyer obviously owns all things Twilight.**

***This story is a slight detour from canon, but true in spirit. I'll explain further in the footnotes.**

**Texas, mid 1930s, Jasper's POV**

The moon was full tonight. It lit up the countryside. The sky wasn't as bright as on a sunny day, of course, but similar to days where clouds blocked most of the sun's rays. The perfect night for hunting. I didn't need the light to help me see. I saw equally well in daylight and the deepest black night. Actually, I thought the colors shone more clearly and more beautifully in the dark. A full moon benefited me, because it served as a beacon, enticing humans to wander freely in the night. They thought they could see on bright nights like this. They never noticed me, though, at least not until it was too late.

I'd spent the last hour following two men who were walking along a poorly paved road a few miles north of a hobo camp near San Antonio. The camp was one of my favorite hunting grounds, full of homeless young men who wouldn't be missed if they disappeared. But tonight was not a normal hunt. We needed newborns, fast. The coven from Reynosa was still reeling from its loss to us in December. Maria had killed the leader's mate during the battle, and Pedro was determined to avenge her death. According to my scouts, he was building his army rapidly and likely would be ready to fight in a month or two. We were at a distinct disadvantage. Maria and I had destroyed four of our newborns last month when we uncovered a mutiny plot. We were left with only eight, three of whom were nearing the year mark.

We'd spent the last fortnight creating new vampires. We were back up to twelve and aimed to have fifteen or sixteen within another week. It was a sign of our desperation that I was participating in the changing at all. I despised turning humans into vampires. Mostly because I was horrible at it. Maria typically succeeded in turning humans three-fourths of the time. I was lucky if one out of every five of my attempts survived. No matter how much I prepared myself beforehand, the second I tasted blood on my tongue, all my focus evaporated. In every other facet of my life, I was the strongest, the most controlled. The best fighter, the best at maintaining peace and discipline, the best teacher. But where blood was involved, I was weak. It was a humbling experience - one I preferred to avoid.

While the blow to my ego was my primary reason for hatred of changing humans, I also disliked knowing that I would ultimately be their beginning and their end. I would create them, and after a year, assuming they survived that long, I would destroy them. The yearly purge of newborns was necessary, but distasteful. All hell would break loose if covens kept their young ones; there would be too many for the land to handle. Yet it was harder to destroy those whose fates I'd determined. Since my venom initially flowed through their bodies, we were relatives in a way.

The two humans in my sight tonight were not the types I preferred to turn. Their primary emotions were greed, anger, and malice. I knew how they would turn out. They'd make fierce fighters, but would also be stubborn and hard to discipline. Their refusal to listen to my instructions would essentially ensure their destruction in battle when they came against anyone with even a modicum of skill. But one fight was really all we needed them for. Beggars cannot be choosers. Still, I held out hope that I might come across someone more worthy.

It turned out that luck was in my favor. The fools fancied themselves highway robbers. They came across a makeshift camp set up on the side of the road. One human was sleeping on the cold ground, covered only by a ratty blanket. The smoldering remains of a fire were next to him. He clutched a small bag to his chest as he slept, probably his only belongings.

I hid amongst a small group of trees about twenty feet away from the camp and watched the men approach the sleeping human. They did not even attempt to stay quiet. Amusement was added to the greed and malice emanating from them. This was a game for them. The human awoke when he heard their stomping footsteps and rapidly jumped to his feet.

"Get the hell away from me," the human said, in a quiet, surprisingly calm voice. His heart was racing, and fear was rolling off him. Yet he was controlled; I did not sense a hint of hysteria. He placd his bag on the ground between his feet and clenched his fists in front of his face, ready to defend himself.

One of the intruders laughed. "Think you can fight us, kid? Look at you. You're so scrawny that my mother could beat you up and not break a sweat." The other human guffawed loudly at his partner's witty remark. I looked at their intended victim more closely. He was hardly more than a boy, probably not more than seventeen or eighteen years old. He was tall, close to six feet, but very thin, presumably due to lack of food. He looked like he would collapse into pieces if you poked him. Despite his young age, I guessed he had been on the road for awhile. His clothes were torn and dirty, his blond hair was badly in need of a haircut, and he smelled like he had not bathed in days.

The human who had laughed at the young man threw a punch at his stomach while the other human attempted to grab the bag from his feet. The young man deftly avoided the punch and kicked the other man from the side. His fear increased, but there was determination there too. The intruders were surprised and displeased by his skill at fighting. Evidently, they preferred pummelling defenseless victims.

I couldn't have been more thrilled. This young man was exactly the kind of human I wanted for my army. He had natural skill as a fighter and, even better, he remained collected and rational in the face of danger. With immortal strength and some training, he would be outstanding.

I needed to intervene before blood was spilt. Even if I held my breath, I didn't think I could resist an open wound. I was determined to keep this one and didn't want to make the probability of success lower than it already was.

I sent enough calmness toward the group to stop the fighting. By the time I stood in front of them seconds later, all three were staring at me confused, but completely relaxed. The intruders were angry at the disruption but didn't feel the will to do anything about it. The young man was curious, suspicious, and grateful. Without saying a word, I raised my hand and struck the young man on the head with just enough force to knock him to the ground unconscious.

The other two stared at me slack-jawed, angry and fearful after I stopped emanating calm. "What'd you do that for?" one of them shouted. "He was ours. We were here first. Go find someone else to rob!"

I smiled ominously and shook my head, stepping closer to the humans. They were close enough to see my red irises shining in the moonlight. Their bravado disappeared immediately.

"What do you want? Who are you?" the one on the right stammered, his entire body trembling.

"You can have his bag and here, you can have my stuff too." The other human began pulling coins and trinkets out of his pockets and handed them to me.

"I don't want your things," I spat out. With that door closed, their fear increased. I assumed they guessed their fate. I enjoyed their terror more than I normally would. Humans who preyed on innocents deserved a taste of their own medicine. I considered playing out the hunt, toying with them a bit, but decided against it. Time was limited, and I wanted to be able to concentrate on turning the young man.

I grabbed both humans by their arms, crushing a few bones in the process. I pulled the man who first reached for the young man's bag to me first, placing my lips against his jugular vein as he screamed and begged for mercy. I kept my grip firm on the man who threw the first punch, forcing him to watch as I drank the blood from his partner. When my first meal was empty, I turned to the other man.

"Please! No! Please don't kill me! I swear I won't tell anyone about you. I'll do anything. Please! Just let me go!" he begged, tugging against the arm holding him. I could smell salt from the tears streaming from his eyes and the sourness of urine dribbling down his leg.

"I'm sorry," I said disdainfully. "But you're expendable. It's him I want." I motioned to the unconscious young man. With that, I grabbed him by the waist and bit into his neck. I wasn't very thirsty. I actually felt rather full and sloshy from the other human and the lingering blood from yesterday's meal. But as soon as the exquisite, warm liquid was on my tongue, I drank as though I hadn't fed in weeks. I threw the body to the ground as soon as I was finished and turned to the young man.

I'd made a calculated risk in choosing to feed immediately before I attempted to turn a human. It was generally easier to stop drinking if I was already full. Of course, the previous body showed that that was not always the case. And having the taste of blood so recently in my mouth, I innately craved more. Still, my previous successful attempts at turning had occurred when I had fed shortly beforehand.

The young man was lying unconscious on the ground. I worried for a second that I hit his head too hard, but was reassured by the strong pulse and steady heartbeat. I realized that I didn't know his name. Not that it mattered, I supposed. If I was successful, I would find it out soon enough. And if I failed, it would be easier to pretend he'd never existed. I knelt next to his body and pondered the optimal method to bite and release. I decided to forgo the neck. Blood spurted from the jugular, practically begging me to keep drinking. A smaller vein would be easier. The transformation would take longer and would be slightly more torturous. But since the human's pain would be irrelevant if he was dead, my ability to stop took precedence.

I pushed up the sleeve of his right arm and placed my mouth on the inside of his warm wrist, next to the palm of his hand, purposely not breathing. I couldn't give in to the scent. I willed myself to count to three and stop. No swallowing; it was over if I swallowed.

I closed my eyes and bit deeply into the wrist, cutting into the vein. Blood flowed into my mouth. The taste was wonderful, pure ecstasy. It never grew old. I didn't break grip with his wrist, but neither did I allow any blood to trickle down my throat. The fire grew in protest as the seconds passed. One... My vision was clouded with red. I thought the fire would engulf my entire head if I didn't quench the thirst. Two... The blood rolled along my tongue. I savored the flavor, much as an oenophile would treasure the vineyard's specialty. Just one swallow wouldn't hurt. No. No! I could not give into weakness. Three... I wrenched my mouth from the man's wrist, tossing his body several feet away in an urgent need for distance. I buried my head in the grass and focused on breathing in the clean, reedy, bloodless scent.

Not surprisingly, the pain from the venom coursing through the young man's veins jolted him into consciousness. He was screaming now at the top of his lungs. I could hear him behind me rolling in the grass. He was far more terrified of this unexpected pain than he had been of the would-be attackers. I could not let him continue making such a racket without risking discovery. I took another deep breath of human-free air and turned back to him. I held my breath once again. The venom made his blood smell less appealing, but it would be several more hours until the change made his blood entirely unappetizing. I picked him up easily and began running to our hide-out. I held my hand over his mouth until his screams became muffled murmurs that human ears could not detect. He stared at me in shock as we ran. I wondered if he was more surprised by the pain or by the speed of my steps.

When I arrived at the barn where we resided, I dropped the young man off in the cellar under the care of one of the yearlings. There he could scream to his failing heart's content for the next three to four days. Pleased with my successful evening, I left the cellar eager to find Maria and celebrate. I would handle the new recruit later.

***I hope you liked my first chapter of Jasper Tales! Please R&R. I love hearing from you!**

***As I said at the beginning this is a slight detour from canon. I envision this to be Peter, if you hadn't guessed. It says in Midnight Sun that Maria turned Peter, not Jasper. But he easily could have without changing anything important in the story. I wrote this story before re-reading this detail in Midnight Sun, but I liked my twist so well that I decided to keep it.**

***I did my best with the timing. The Twilight Lexicon guideline says that Jasper left Maria in the late 1800s. I am sure this is wrong. In Eclipse, Jasper says he was with Maria for about 80-90 years. I believe it says in Midnight Sun that Peter was turned in the 1940s. I think Stephenie got her timing off in the early draft. He would have to be turned in the 1930s at the latest for the story to make sense. It says in Eclipse that Peter ran away with Charlotte when he was 3 years old. He came back 5 years later to get Jasper. Jasper stayed with them for a few years before wandering on his own and eventually meeting Alice in 1948. So I set my story in Depression era 1930s.**


	2. Feel NothingFeel Everything Part 1

**Chapter 2: Feel Nothing...Feel Everything (Part 1)**

***The lovely Stephenie Meyer obviously owns all things Twilight.**

**1944, Jasper's POV**

Nothing.

I wanted to see nothing, smell nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing, be nothing. I burrowed my body into the ground, molding the damp, clay-like soil into a cocoon. I breathed deeply, not caring that flecks of dirt flew into my nostrils. All I could smell was the earth: a mixture of water, moss, rotting leaves, and pine needles. A palate cleanser for the myriad of scents that normally overwhelmed the air. My ears were framed by dirt walls, slightly dimming the forest sounds above me. My arms were stretched out in front of me, my hands touching the hard wood of a long tree root. I did everything I could to shut the world out.

But I could not feel nothing. I willed myself to be calm, lethargic. The power I had to change the emotions of others, as usual, failed to influence my own feelings. Conversely, dampening my physical senses only seemed to enhance the emotional senses. Memories flashed through my head unceasingly. A variation on an oft-repeated theme. The memories were worse, because the event which precipitated them occurred so recently - just ten minutes ago.

Peter, Charlotte, and I were walking through the forest when we heard a car thumping down the road and then stopping about a mile east of us. We came to a dead stop as the sound of five heartbeats temptingly pumped in our ears.

"Sounds like a flat tire," Peter grinned, excitement coursing through him. "Shall we go offer our assistance? I'm starving."

"You are not, silly," Charlotte chided, swatting him playfully on the shoulder. "We just fed yesterday."

Peter shrugged. "Perhaps I'm exaggerating a bit. But you know what they say...never look a gift horse in the mouth. And we haven't had the opportunity to go driving in weeks! Are you game, Jasper?"

I nodded enthusiastically. More venom poured into my mouth with every watery thump of the humans' hearts. Even though I felt fine a few minutes before, fire was starting to rake at my throat. The feelings of thirst and anticipation radiating from Peter and Charlotte only intensified my own longing.

We ran to the edge of the trees in seconds, slowing to a human-speed jaunt as we exited the forest. We approached the humans from behind. It was nearly dark outside, so we would have a few minutes before they noticed our eyes, unless they shined a light directly on our faces.

"Do you folks need some help?" Peter called out. "We're camping not too far from here and we heard your car stop."

Four people were inside the car: a middle-aged woman, a teenaged girl, a young boy, and a toddler girl. A man was outside, squatting next to a flat tire on the rear passenger side. The man had the build of a football player, but the large belly protruding over his belt buckle and gray-streaked brown hair indicated that his glory days were long past. Peter walked up to the man and knelt beside him, careful not to look him in the eye. Charlotte and I waited in the background. My ability to control emotions allowed me to easily charm humans, but Peter's friendly nature enabled him to do the same without any extra talents. Lately, Peter took the primary approaching role, because he had shoes and I did not. No need to appear any more abnormal than necessary.

"Looks like you have a flat tire," Peter observed. The humans emitted a mixture of relief, gratefulness, and suspicion at the chance of three strangers approaching their car immediately after it broke down.

"Wh- why, yes," stammered the man, instinctively disconcerted by Peter's proximity. He stood, took a step back, and stared at Peter in cautious wonder, marveling at the perfection of his features but also noticing his disheveled, dirty clothing and long, shaggy blonde hair. Peter stood also, but kept his eyes trained to the tire with his head angled downward. I pulled away the man's anxiety and replaced it with calm. Instantly, his shoulders relaxed and he smiled, almost giddy with relief. His voice was now friendly and upbeat. "I was just going to change it. I'd be grateful for an extra pair of hands. I'm Bill. You are?"

"Peter. And that's my wife Charlotte and my brother Jasper," Peter said with a small smile, waving his hand toward us. "Just let me know what I can do to help." Bill glanced back at Charlotte and me, a little suspicion creeping back in. Perhaps he wondered why I did not also volunteer to help, since my large frame made me appear much stronger than Peter's rather scrawny body.

"It was sure lucky that you ran into us," Bill said. "We don't see too many young men out and about nowadays with the war on. Are you and your brother soldiers?"

Peter's smile broadened. "We are, actually. You might say we're on extended leave." Even I smiled briefly at that. AWOL was more like it. Bill looked confused at Peter's joke, but said nothing in response.

Bill walked over to the trunk to retrieve the spare tire. Peter breathed in his scent when Bill's back was turned and mouthed backed to us, "Dibs." Fine with me. It was his turn to have the largest human in the group. I just wanted him to get on with it. The longer we prolonged this, the greater the chance that the humans would start to panic or another car would approach and ruin the opportunity altogether. Charlotte's rising irritation indicated that she felt the same.

Peter apparently did not want to rush the experience. He walked around the perimeter of the car, running his hand along the roof and the hood, utterly entranced.

"This is quite the car," Peter stated admirably. "What kind is it?"

"A 1944 Olds. Just a few months old," Bill said, his voice strained as he lifted the spare tire out of the trunk. "Runs like a beaut, as long as you got all four tires pumped up." I considered going over to help him, but didn't think I could control myself if I was any closer. I'd let Peter have his fun for another minute or two.

The man poked his head into one of the open car windows and said, "Okay kids, everybody out. We need to jack the car up." The four humans got out of the car slowly. The mother reached into the backseat to pick up the toddler, and the little boy grumbled about not being able to sit in the car while it was tilted. Charlotte and I looked at each other eagerly as the delicious scents wafted closer to us. Finally.

Or not. Peter still appeared to be in no hurry. I think he was more interested in the car than he was in the meal. The mother and children stood in a group near the hood of the car. The little boy was staring at Peter, Charlotte, and me with great curiosity. He tried to run over to Peter and his father, but his mother held him back, her protective instincts piqued. Meanwhile, Bill positioned a jack at the rear of the car and turned it to lift the tire off the ground. Peter began loosening the screws on the tire with the wrench that Bill tossed him.

"How fast can this thing go?" Peter asked.

"Oh, about 65 miles an hour when the roads are good. It's not a fancy sportscar, but it still makes good time," the man replied.

"Sure beats my old Model T!" Peter exclaimed with a laugh. The man looked at him oddly, wondering, I'm sure, why a young man like Peter would have driven a Model T.

"Peter!" Charlotte hissed. "Are we going to have to wait until you put on the new tire? We can do it later." I sent a wave of annoyance Peter's way in agreement. Charlotte's voice wasn't loud enough for the humans to make out the words, but they still looked our way in reaction to the noise.

Without turning around, Peter sighed and muttered, "Fine." He moved closer to Bill and looked him straight in the eye for the first time. There was just enough light for the man to see the red hue. His heart skipped a beat before beginning to pound, and he fell from his squatting position onto his back in shock and terror.

"Well, Bill," Peter said with an ominous grin. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, but unfortunately our time is up. Thanks for the car though!"

Bill's heart raced. He had just enough time to scream, "Run!" at his family before Peter leaped on top of him, crushing his body to the ground, and biting into the skin right at the jugular artery. Peter was an efficient eater. He bit so cleanly and swallowed so quickly that hardly any blood escaped his mouth.

The other humans stood frozen in shock for a second. They clearly knew something was horribly wrong, but from their vantage point, it was hard to see exactly what Peter was doing. The boy still felt more curiosity than fear. It was when he started once again to walk toward his father and Peter that the mother was spurred into action. She grabbed the boy by the arm and clutched the toddler closer and began running down the road screaming for help. The older girl ran even faster, shrieking at a high, grating pitch. Charlotte and I watched them run for a moment. The chase was more fun if they had a head-start.

They didn't go far before the sweet smell of adrenaline and the few drops of blood escaping from Peter's lips overpowered our senses. Charlotte and I took off toward the humans, traveling the distance in three seconds that took them two minutes to run.

I threw my arm across the woman's chest, grabbing onto her shoulder, and holding her tight against my body. The toddler fell from her arm at the force of my contact. I roughly broke her grip on the boy, shoving him toward Charlotte. I heard a bone in his arm snap where I grabbed him, and he screamed. I felt a prick of pity as his pain and fear coursed through me. Charlotte caught the boy and slammed him roughly to the ground where he lay unconscious, blood dripping from a cut on his head. She had the girl in her arms and was forcing her to bend so Charlotte could comfortably reach her neck.

"No! Don't hurt them!" the mother screamed, staring at Charlotte as she bit into the girl. "Take me instead! Leave them alone!" She struggled against me, trying in vain to reach her children. I started to turn away, so she couldn't see her daughter anymore, but the woman's fear, anger, and sheer desperation were so strong that I lost focus for an instant. I couldn't move at all. Her terror became my own, and I was almost tempted to attack Charlotte, to do anything to protect this woman's daughter. Instead, I stared at Charlotte, frozen in place. Because of my inaction, the woman watched her daughter die before her eyes. The fear and anger were replaced with grief and regret. She no longer struggled. She leaned limp against me, hot, salty tears streaming down her face. She simply waited for the inevitable, welcoming it perhaps. A memory flickered in my mind of listening to my mother's wracking sobs when my baby sister died of fever. The visual memory was gone, but I could still hear her cries and feel her grief.

I cursed myself for my lapse in discipline. If this had been a battle, that pause likely would have left me in pieces. I ended the woman's suffering and, by extension, my own, quickly. I bit into her neck just above the collarbone, savoring the euphoric feeling as the blood rushed down my throat. The blood was pleasantly warm as it spread throughout my body, sending exquisite tingles to every extremity. For a moment, all the sadness and fear surrounding me were forgotten.

The emotions returned with a vengeance as soon as I drained the last drop of blood from the woman. Tossing her body to the side, I looked around wildly for more blood. I needed something, anything, to stop the pain. The remembered anguish threatened to choke me and simultaneously, the flames of bloodlust threatened to burn me alive. I saw the toddler sitting on the ground, her face awash with tears. She couldn't be more than two years old. Amazingly, she was not feeling terror despite watching the rest of her family die. Her tears were motivated by confusion and frustration. I fed from her quickly, draining the body completely before Charlotte even noticed. She often would not allow us to feed from young children. She preferred to leave them alive, or if their deaths were unavoidable, as they usually were, to kill them cleanly and painlessly. Peter and I didn't see what difference it made. If we were going to kill them anyway, we might as well get some benefit out of it. I was happy to end my meal with the child. She was too young to understand her fate. There were no painful emotions dampening my experience. My only regret was that her body was so small and the blood was gone far too soon.

We carried the bodies about a mile into the forest and buried them under a grouping of fallen logs. Peter and Charlotte returned to the car to finish changing the tire. I ran further into the trees until coming to a small clearing where I was now lying, face down on the forest floor.

The memories released me momentarily from their hold, and I realized that I squeezed my hands so tightly against the tree root while recalling the hunt that the wood pulverized in my fingers. I patted the sawdust into the ground with my palms and shifted my arms downward so they were tight against my thighs. I took another deep breath of dirt and pine needles and focused on calm.

Calm and peace were two emotional states that I relished in others, but lately could produce of my own accord. Sadness, grief, guilt, anger, and regret pushed out every positive emotion. Guilt was currently at the forefront. Killing women and children was the most heinous of crimes. Was it not my duty at one time to protect women and children? How could I be the cause of their deaths now? I tried to justify the killings. I needed human blood with every fiber of my being. A human was a human; its age and gender were irrelevant. I did not seek women and children to hunt, but if they were amongst a group of prey, someone had to feed off them. They could not be left to tell the tale of other humans' demise. Regardless, my attempts to rationalize my actions felt empty and lacking. I truly was a monster.

**A/N: I thought a dark Jasper tale would be rather fun. I originally wrote this as a really long one-shot, but decided to split it into two chapters. Stay tuned for Part 2!**

**Please R&R!**


	3. Feel NothingFeel Everything Part 2

**Chapter 3: Feel Nothing...Feel Everything (Part 2)**

***The lovely Stephenie Meyer obviously owns all things Twilight.**

**1944, Jasper's POV**

My cocoon was not the peaceful shell for which I'd been aiming. Still, I pondered lying here forever. It seemed better than getting up and repeating the horror story of my life time and time again.

Peter approached me several hours after the hunt (or was attack the more apt term?). He was still filled with the ecstasy of blood. I was jealous; my euphoria evaporated as soon as I swallowed the last mouthful. He also radiated lust and desire, presumably a remnant of his typical post-hunt dalliance with Charlotte. I felt his curiosity, confusion, and amusement flare as he stood above me.

"Jas! What are you doing down there?" he said with a laugh.

"Go away," I muttered, knowing that he could hear me even though I spoke directly into the muddy ground. I considered sending out feelings of anger, sadness, or boredom - anything to make him leave me alone - but I didn't have the energy.

Peter's amusement at my appearance dimmed and was replaced with concern. He sat down on the ground next to me and poked my shoulder with a small branch he pulled off the tree in front of me. "Come on, Jasper. Get up. Get ahold of yourself." I grabbed the stick from his hand and threw it back at him without lifting my head. It was a testament to the trust between us and the peaceful atmosphere of the North that I allowed myself to remain in a vulnerable position when he was so close. I never would have turned my back on anyone in the South, not even Peter, my closest friend.

"Fine," Peter said, still feeling more concern than annoyance. "You can lay there as long as you like, but I'm not leaving until you get up." I didn't respond, and we both stayed in the same position for the next twenty minutes. Finally, I sighed and rose up on my elbows to glare at him.

"That's more like it," he smiled, patting me on the head as though I was a child. "Come on, the car's all ready to go. We have at least four hours until dawn to drive around." He held out his hand, and I took it, letting him pull me to my feet. It was irresponsible to make my friends suffer, because of my own misery. I needed to put up a wall to block off all the emotions roiling through me, from them at least, but hopefully from myself as well.

I stepped out of body-shaped hole where I'd been lying and kicked the dirt back in that I'd removed. Peter's mirth grew as he watched me. When I turned around, he was shaking with laughter.

"Look at you, Jasper. You're beyond filthy." He reached over to brush the dirt out of my hair, but I jumped back from his touch and crouched down, knees bent, arms clawed in front of me. The North had not quelled all my fighting instincts; sometimes, the smallest, most insignificant movement threw me into full self-defense mode. Peter understood and backed a few steps away. "There's a creek about a half mile that way," he said, pointing to the northwest. "Go clean up. I'm not letting you step foot in my car looking like that."

I straightened up slowly, embarrassed by my overreaction to a friendly gesture. I played along with Peter's attempts to relieve the tension. "Your car?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. "I believe it was a team effort."

"No, sir." Peter said, grinning. "He who changes the tire, claims the car." I rolled my eyes and shoved him before running to the creek. We both knew that I had zero interest in automobiles. Even though they'd been commonplace for more than thirty years, they still felt like an odd novelty to me. I'd never ridden in one until I began traveling with Peter and Charlotte last year. Traveling in an enclosed box watching the world inch by felt unnatural. I'm sure I rode in carriages as a human, but I had no memory of such experiences. Instead, I remembered the exhilaration of riding horseback with the wind whipping against my face, the marvelous feeling of freedom. It was almost as fun as running is now.

I reached the creek and stared at my reflection in the water. I was, indeed, a sight to behold. My face, clothes, hands, and feet were streaked with dirt. My eyebrows and eyelashes, typically golden blonde, were thick and black. My hair was relatively clean, but the locks closest to my face lay long and straight, well past my chin,weighed down with clumps of mud. A few twigs were caught in the tangled strands. I looked like a scarecrow.

I jumped into the creek, clothes and all, and scrubbed the mud off my body. The dirt stubbornly stuck to my shirt and pants. The water only made the stained fabric look worse. I would have to find some new clothes before venturing near humans again. New shoes as well. I was now barefoot since the soles of my last pair wore out. Charlotte enjoyed walking through the shops when we wandered through towns on cloudy days and typically dragged us with her. I would be far too conspicuous barefoot and filthy. We already received more than enough stares from the sunglasses we wore after we'd recently fed. Perhaps Peter's new car had a few suitcases in it.

I stepped out of the creek and shook off as much water as I could. Peter would have to settle for letting me into his precious Oldsmobile soaked but clean. I ran back to the car. Charlotte was leaning over the open trunk rifling through a few suitcases of clothing. Peter was sitting in the driver's seat fascinated by something, probably the latest features on the dashboard.

"Is there anything there I could wear?" I asked. Charlotte turned around and looked me up and down. She clearly was amused to see me looking like a wet rat, but worry was her primary emotion. Peter must have told her about my strange behavior. She pursed her lips and turned back to the suitcases. She pulled out a few shirts.

"Hmm...Some of these shirts may fit you. He was a head shorter than you, but fat enough that the size may be about right. Peter was swimming in his clothes. Here, try this on." She handed me a red and white plaid button-down shirt. I pulled my shirt off and gave it to Charlotte. She held the soiled, wet garment with two fingers, wrinkling her nose in distaste. The new shirt was large enough to fit my tall frame, but the sleeves ended several inches short of my wrists.

"It's a bit bulky, but just roll the sleeves up, and you'll be good enough," Charlotte noted. "Not that one though. You look like a tablecloth. Off, off!" She tugged at the shirt until I removed it and put on the dark blue one she gave me instead. "Much better. And it will hide the dirt next time you decide to play in the mud."

Peter leaned out the window. "This is why you need to find a mate, Jasper. Charlotte doesn't have anyone to play dress-up with other than us." Charlotte ran over to the driver's window and tossed my wet shirt into his face. Peter laughed and threw his arms around Charlotte's neck, pulling her toward him until their lips were touching. Their kiss rapidly became more and more amorous, with Charlotte tangling her fingers through Peter's hair as he ran his hands up and down her chest. I jolted them apart with a strong wave of embarrassment.

"Some of us are trying to keep a meal down here," I grumbled. Charlotte looked appropriately chagrined, but Peter just laughed.

"Well, get in the car then. We only have a few hours until daylight. I want to see how fast this baby can really go. I bet I can get it up to 70 or 75." Charlotte and I got in the car as Peter revved the engine. I rolled the window down. When I first started riding with Peter, I would lean my head out the window as we drove, but stopped after Peter repeatedly howled and called me Fido. Still, it was nice to feel a slight breeze. It helped me forget that I was trapped in a moving box.

Charlotte kissed Peter on the cheek as she sat down in the front passenger seat. "Let's see if you can keep it running until dawn this time," she teased.

Peter was a car's worst nightmare. His normally calm, cautious temperament disappeared when he sat behind the wheel of an automobile. He insisted upon driving as fast as possible and preferred curves where he could take sharp turns, often at speeds even faster than he drove on straight roads. He usually ended up crashing a car within a few hours of driving, flipping it over on a curve or smashing into a tree when the brakes locked. Our heightened reflexes could respond instantly to the slightest change in pitch or torque, naturally making us better drivers than humans. But automobiles were not designed to handle the level of stress Peter subjected them to and lost control regardless of his ability to drive.

Peter managed to keep the car in one piece tonight. Just before dawn, he pulled the car into an empty campground. We usually abandoned a car after only a few hours of driving to avoid being seen in the vehicle during daylight. Today, the cloud cover and the lack of passing cars allowed Peter to indulge in his second favorite activity: tinkering. If an automobile survived Peter's driving, it inevitably succumbed to Peter's mechanical ability, or lack thereof.

I sat nearby on a branch of an ancient oak tree, about thirty feet above ground. Peter had removed the engine from the car and had various parts strewn on the grass. I listened to him and Charlotte swap their favorite car stories from human days.

"I went on a date with the most handsome boy in my school," Charlotte recounted. She was sitting on the ground next to Peter, a finger curled around one of his belt loops, handing him tools. "What was his name? Daniel? No, Dale, I think. He was the only boy in school with enough money to have his own car. It was brand new, and I was the first girl to ride in it. We were driving to the lake north of town, and the car broke down halfway there. I had to steer while he and someone else pushed it to the nearest farm."

"Handsome Dale, huh?" Peter grinned at Charlotte as he pulled the engine apart piece by piece. "Should I be jealous?"

"I think not," Charlotte laughed. "As I recall, he talked more about the car than he did about me. The entire time I was steering he was yelling at me to be more careful and to not touch anything on the dashboard. Besides, I'm sure he's bald and married with two kids by now. Not quite my type."

I leaned against the tree trunk, sighing as I listened to my friends. It always amazed me how many memories they had of their human lives. They were cloudy and confused, but still there. Nearly all of my memories were gone. The few that remained were from my military days or random events from my childhood tied to particularly strong emotions. Charlotte and Peter were fortunate to be young and have nothing but free time. They were only seven and nine years old, respectively. And they'd been free from fighting for six of those years. When I was their age, I was consumed with warfare. In my first ten years, I only had one day entirely free of any obligations. The battles descended into occasional skirmishes as the years went on, but my days were busy with managing newborns and scouting our territory for intruders. Time to reflect was a rare luxury. It didn't matter that my life was now full of leisure. My human past was lost forever.

We stayed in the campground until the clouds dissipated around midday. The campground was too close to the main road to safely be in the sunlight. And by that time, even Peter admitted that the rebuilt engine was never going to run. We gathered the few clothes and belongings from the car that would be useful to us and moved on.

**Please, please R&R. And tell friends. :-)**


	4. A Day Away

**Jasper ****Tales ****ch.****4**

**A ****Day ****Away**

***As always, Stephenie Meyer is the master of all things Twilight.**

**Edward ****POV, ****1950**** – ****a ****few ****months ****after ****Alice ****and ****Jasper ****arrived**

My fingers were plowing through the largo movement of a Mozart's sonata with increasing rapidity. A moment ago, I was playing at a steady allegro pace, but now my hands flew along the keys at a rate that would have a human pianist keeling over with exhaustion. My stomach lurched, jumping practically up to my throat, and I fumbled the keys with my left hand, producing an atonal racket. I sighed and stopped playing. It was pointless as long as Jasper was in the room.

I turned toward the front of the room where Jasper was standing frozen at the window. He'd positioned himself to have an unobstructed view of the entire driveway and the adjacent road. Alice had only been gone for twenty minutes, and he was already approaching full panic mode. In the few months that Alice and Jasper had lived with us, Jasper had never been more than a few rooms away from Alice. If she went hunting, he went with her. If she went shopping with Esme and Rosalie, so did he. Actually, just separating into different rooms had been a recent development. For the first few weeks, Jasper refused to be more than five feet away from Alice if any of us were nearby.

Last night, Alice announced that she, Esme, and Rosalie were going to be driving into the city to go shopping. A girl's day out. She and Jasper lay together in the grass in the front yard all night. She previewed her entire day, minute by minute, to assure Jasper that there was no chance that she would be in any danger. She begged Jasper to enjoy the day and get to know Emmett and me better, even though she saw a seventy five percent chance that Jasper would wile away the day in a mixture of anxiety and guilt.

Thus far, Jasper was fulfilling Alice's prophecy. He was so nervous that he was subconsciously pushing out waves of anxiety throughout the entire room. And guilt only added to his anxiety. He felt horrible about not trusting Alice's assurances of her safety and simultaneously about being foolish enough to leave her unprotected with two vampires he barely knew.

Jasper turned around briefly when I stopped playing the piano and glared at me. He assumed that I'd stopped to eavesdrop on his thoughts, forgetting that I could hear him just as well when I was playing as when I was not. His annoyance made me react more brusquely that I normally would have done. "Haven't you _ever_been separated from her, in the two years you've known each other?" I asked, in a vaguely sarcastic tone.

"No," he snapped. He turned back to stare out the window. _Or __at __least __not __alone __with __people __I __don__'__t..._He stopped, aware that I was hearing everything he was thinking.

"Trust," I finished. He growled in response, thrust his hands into his pockets, and stood on his toes to see further down the road.

_How __do __they __stand __this? _he wondered. Pretty much how they stand you knowing and influencing all their emotions. I was tempted to say this out loud, but thought it would not contribute to our goal of friendship, or at least peaceful co-existence.

Jasper wanted to get away from me and my interfering mind-reading. He considered following the girls into town, but decided it was too risky and might upset Alice. He then thought of running up to the lake a few miles behind our home, but was afraid to be too far from the telephone if Alice needed him.

"If it makes you feel any better," I said, running my hand silently over the piano keys, keeping my voice light and casual. "On the non-existent chance that Esme or Rosalie decided to hurt Alice, I think that given Alice's abilities, she could easily defeat them both."

Jasper stared at me, more puzzled than mollified. After standing silently for a moment, he turned into teacher mode. "Why are you telling me this? You are exposing a weakness of your coven to a potential enemy."

I bristled at his assumption that I was naive and careless in the protection of my family. "If it wasn't glaringly obvious, I wouldn't tell you. But unfortunately, it is, as you yourself have thought on more than one occasion." I put my elbows on the music stand of the piano and buried my face in my hands, breathing deeply, trying to push off the lingering jumpiness from Jasper's anxiety. What would Carlisle say if he was here? I walked over to the sofa nearest Jasper and leaned against the arm. "Look, Jasper, you've only been here a month. I know it's going to take you some time, a long time probably, before you trust us. All I can really say is that none of us would ever dream of attacking Alice or you. We aren't like the Southerners."

"I know that," he grumbled. _You __don__'__t __need __to __placate __me __like __I__'__m __a __child._

"I'm not trying to be patronizing, just reassuring. Besides, Alice wanted you to enjoy yourself today too. If you'd like, we could get out the chess board or play backgammon. We bought a new cribbage set last month that we haven't used much. Or we could get out a deck of cards. I'm not really the most fun person to play with given the mind-reading thing, but Emmett's quite good at all the games. I'm sure he'd jump at the chance to play." I really did sound like Carlisle. He tried anything and everything to get me out of my gloom during my first few months as an immortal. He bought every game known to man, brought home loads of books, reams of music. He would throw out suggestion after suggestion of things we could do, hoping that something would strike my fancy. Eventually, I would give in, choosing some random game just to make him shut up. Or, if I was feeling particularly resentful that day, I would throw the nearest piece of furniture at his head. Jasper, fortunately, was more even-tempered and mature than that.

"Maybe later," he mumbled, peering out the window once again. He replayed Alice's admonition that he not spend the day wallowing and his reluctant promise to not do so and then walked out of the room. His feet moved slower than normal, almost as if he was not walking of his own volition.

I returned to playing the piano, managing to keep to the proper tempo without Jasper in the room. Out of curiosity, or more accurately, out of nosiness, I mentally watched Jasper as he wandered aimlessly upstairs. He quickly walked around the perimeter of Carlisle's office, the walls of which were covered floor to ceiling with books. There were several books that caught his eye, but he was nervous about lingering in the office of the leader of our family, or coven in Jasper's terminology. Carlisle had stated on numerous occasions that Jasper and Alice were welcome to use his office and any of the books within it whenever they wished, but Jasper still had difficulty believing Carlisle was as kind and generous as he appeared. His emotions seemed genuine, but coven leaders just didn't act that way. It wasn't natural. I rolled my eyes. Carlisle would be thrilled that Jasper trusted him enough to walk into his office at all. I had no doubt that he would figure out which books carried the strongest trace of Jasper's scent and give them to him specially.

Jasper lingered outside the door of the room he and Alice now shared. He thought of walking into Alice's closet and burying himself in her scent for the remainder of the day. It was the next best thing to having her with him. But Alice would be upset if she found him there, incapacitated without her, so he took his hand off the doorknob and walked further down the hallway.

Esme's study was at the end of the hall on the second floor. She referred to it as her drawing room, but Emmett called it Esme's potty room. It was a tiny bathroom that Esme used for drafting house plans and painting watercolors. Prior to Alice and Jasper's arrival, she had used the attic as an artistic studio, but it had been redesignated as my bedroom. The bathroom was the only space available in a very crowded house.

Jasper drank in Esme's scent as he walked into the room. Esme exuded contentment and peacefulness so much that Jasper could almost feel her calming presence through scent alone. Esme was the only person in our family who Jasper truly trusted, or at least almost trusted. Similarly, despite her initial fear, Esme was the first person in the family to look past Jasper's scars and jumpiness and accept him into our lives.

Jasper looked closely at the various tools and instruments on the shelves above the toilet. He picked up a metal contraption. It was painted black and shaped like a V, with a flat bottom. He pulled it open slightly, and jumped when the top sprang back and now lay straight with the bottom piece. He gasped and stared at it in horror. He must have broken it. He hoped that Esme was not particularly attached to this metal thing. If he could find out what it was, he could buy her a new one and give it to her with fervent apologies.

I stifled a laugh and ran upstairs. I was trying to keep the corners of my mouth from twitching as I walked into Esme's room. It was pointless to hide though, since Jasper was perfectly aware that I was amused at his expense. His taught, worried face slid into in an irritated glare as he turned around with the contraption in his hand. I felt my amusement slip away as Jasper replaced the emotion with a vague sense of lethargy. Better that than terror, I suppose.

"Don't worry, Jasper, you didn't break it."

His body deflated like a balloon. He was so relieved that he wasn't even angry with me. Looking at me with the hint of a sheepish, embarrassed smile, he asked, "What is it?"

"It's a stapler." The contraption's name evoked no recognition. "It's a bit like a gun. When you press the two sides together, it shoots out a small piece of metal that holds paper together. Let me show you." I held my hand out, and Jasper gave me the stapler. I grabbed two crumpled sheets of paper out of the wastebasket, smoothed them, and then placed them next to one another. "You put two pieces of paper against the bottom of the stapler. You press down the heavier part of the stapler against the papers, and - " the stapler clicked as the staple fastened itself into the paper sheets "now the papers are attached."

Jasper lifted his chin slightly in acknowledgement and thanks for the demonstration. He held the stapler gingerly, turning it upside down to look at the row of staples. He picked out one of the staples and bent the light metal piece inward. He pushed a little too hard and the metal snapped in two. He frowned and place the stapler back on the shelf where he'd found it.

"Thank you," he said as he exited the room. He thought he should leave before he accidentally did break one of Esme's modern tools. Feeling rather awkward as we walked together down the hallway, he thought he should offer to do something with me. To continue to ignore me after I'd helped him would be inexcusably rude. But the idea of playing a game with a mind-reader was less than appealing, and he wasn't in the mood to practice fighting.

Finally, something acceptable occurred to him. "Do you play poker? My ability to call people's bluffs gives me a considerable advantage usually. With your abilities, we may be evenly matched."

"Evenly matched?" I grinned. "I don't know about that. But I'm happy to help you improve your ability to be a good loser. I'll get the cards."

***The first modern stapler was patented in 1866, according to Wikipedia.**

***What do you think? Please R&R!**


End file.
